It seems she does not exactly like my comment about flying, and her reaction is the first thing in my life that brings a frown to my features. I.. I do not like that look of disappointment she gives me, and much as I had done before I try and lean up to lick at her jaw. But this time, I am met with a 'bop' on my nose by one of her alabaster paws. The movement though is all to fast for me, so in truth I don't know what actually hits my nose but I know it disorientates me and that at the same moment she's moving off of me I am overtaken by a sneezing fit. Instead of bouncing up to my feet as I normally would have, I am rolling to and fro and sneezes wreck through me and at last my body falls still and I am splayed all about. Petite paws wave up at the sky above me, as I am distracted by clouds and I even almost forget the wolf just beside me, that is until she speaks again and I snap my attention back on her. Immediately do I roll to my perky paws, toxic green eyes eager for her own with an unexpected want for her approval.

I cannot explain these feelings, much the same as I cannot explain the way I liked her bigger body on top of mine, but I accept it for what it is and that is that. I wait, then, for the words to register in my brain and at last they do; she asked me my name and where I came from. I cannot tell her the latter, but I tell her why I cannot all the same. "I am Lenore, and I haven't a home anymore." My slender and feminine skull nods at the truth and confirmation of my words, even as I continue speaking and more words tumble quickly past my lips. "I do not know of my past, all I know is I was an outcast." I do not remember my birthplace, or my siblings, or anything having to do with any of that. What I do remember, however, is the strange looks I have always gotten and the way that wolves seem to always avoid me. I find myself akin to a plague, and as my simple mind goes I find absolutely nothing wrong in that. I have enjoyed my isolation, loved it, in fact, and until I met her I had not wanted to be near another. But now, under the scrutiny of her mismatched gaze I am wiggly and enthralled and even trembling. I don't know the feeling I have, but I like it and that's enough for me.

I think I have told her enough, so that when she asks if I have eaten I have two words for her. And they are quite loud. "I'm STARVING." My white tail wags furiously behind me as I wait and stare at her, my petite jaw agape with my excitement and eagerness at the prospect of her giving me food. Truly I must have stumbled upon a dream land, for first I am Queen of the Hill and now I am She Who Survives the Bandit and then She Who Dines with the Bandit. Tilting my head to the side in sublime innocence, innate curiosity laces my tones in my last sentence to her. "What might it be that's in need of our carving?"